


North Side of The Island

by typicallyexceptional



Category: Captain America (Movies), Lost, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typicallyexceptional/pseuds/typicallyexceptional
Summary: (A LOST-inspired AU.)Natasha and her brother, James Buchanan, are raised by Mother on an island with no other people. They belong to her. Their childhood consists of training and of pleasing her. Nothing is complicated; everything is what they understand it to be.Their world is shaken when James meets an injured man on the north side of the island less than a week after they hear a roar in the sky on a stormless day.[DISCONTINUED because I can't write other people's characters :c]





	1. Death of The Mother

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: this is a little idea I had and it’s not likely to be very good, but I want to remember what it feels like to really enjoy writing. Characters may behave uncharacteristically. This first chapter is a bit short because it's more like a prologue.

The girl writhed in the dirt, protected from the elements on three sides by the walls of the cave. The howls of the storm outside masked her own and the onslaught of rain did not quite reach the fire pit inside. She was young; barely out of her teens, and unprepared for the pain of labor.

Beside her, the only other person on the island crouched. A woman either old enough, or stressed enough, to have wrinkles around her mouth and her eyes, and to have a face framed by dark hair streaked with grey.

“Push, girl,” the older woman commanded quietly.

“I’m—trying!” the girl panted, a slight whine to her voice. She threw her head back as another round of contractions gripped her. “But Mother, it _hurts_.”

“Of course it does, you silly thing,” the woman hissed, “but I didn’t care for you for six long months for you to fail now.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said through gritted teeth, groaning and taking a deep breath. “I’m trying,” she repeated.

“You’re almost done,” the older woman declared, her harsh features softening momentarily. She held her hands forward, prepared to grab the infant. “I can see the baby’s head. Give one more push...”

The girl did as ordered, her cry mingling with those of her firstborn. The older woman cleaned the dark-haired infant off with a cloth that had been draped near the fire, tied off the umbilical cord, and held the bundled child out to the girl.

“A boy,” the older woman murmured. The girl took her son in her arms.

“He’s beautiful, Mother.” Her smile was beatific, but quickly wrenched from her face by a pained grimace.

“Twins." There was a hungry look in the older woman's face, a sharp edge of satisfaction to her voice. She took the boy from his mother’s unresistant arms and ignored his cries as she set him on the rocky ground. Mere minutes later, another baby slid silently into the world.

The second child had red hair curling softly across her scalp and did not cry. She looked calmly about the world with wide eyes and did not protest when she was cleaned roughly and handed to her mother.

With both children in her arms and drenched in sweat, the new mother’s body relaxed, her ordeal outweighed by her children.

“What shall you name them, girl?” the older woman asked. “Names are a powerful thing, you know.”

“James and Natasha,” the mother whispered. “My children... Their names are James Buchanan and Natash—Natasha...” she coughed, and looked at the woman with wide eyes. She coughed again, and the pool of blood underneath her spread. "Mother—help—"

“James Buchanan and Natasha,” the woman hummed. “That is enough.” Her face was not pleasant. “Thank you, girl.”

The children were stolen from the rapidly stilling form. The storm died with the nameless mother and the older woman stepped out of the cave onto dry ground.

She smiled.


	2. Five and Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two short scenes from ages five and ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a couple of short scenes from their childhood before we reach the main time of the story in order to provide a little exposition.
> 
> Also I typed this up on my phone while the bus.

“Nat! Wait up!” James, who had broken his arm the week before, slid to the bottom of the rock wall they were to scale.

“Do not expect your sister to make up for your weaknesses,” Mother scolded.

“Sorry, Mother,” James shrank upon himself, then returned to the wall. He clutched his injured arm tightly against his chest, shielding it, and grasped at the lowest handhold. He attempted to pull himself up, pressing one foot into a crevice, but slid down. He looked at Mother, an apology dying on his lips at the sight of her anger.

“Mother!” Natasha called from above. “Look, Mother, I've reached the top!” And she had. Natasha, leaner than her brother and better at falling, had an agility that matched her petite frame. Without fear of injury, she was able to hone her technique sooner than him. Besides; while Natasha had shed her baby fat the year before, James retained his. The plumpness of his fingers made grip difficult.

“Oh, my precious girl,” Mother smiled up at Natasha, James’s error forgotten. “My talented child. Good. Return to me and we shall have our supper.”

Natasha scampered down the rocks, pressing against tiny fissures that were unlikely to be visible from her point of view, and stood expectantly in front of Mother. She did not look at James, who was still trying to make it more than a few feet off the ground. Mother crouched and pressed a hand to Natasha’s cheek, kissing her forehead.

“I've prepared the last of the doe for your dinner,” Mother smiled indulgently. “I knew you would not disappoint me.”

“What about James?”

Mother glanced at the boy, who looked hopefully up at her. “He can eat when he's succeeded. James,” Mother said, “continue to work. When you've reached the rock with the sapling growing upon it, you may return home. I shall return in the morning. If you disappoint me, you will not like the results.”

“Yes, Mother,” James sighed. He looked at the ground and watched his family’s shadows as they departed for the evening.

 

* * *

 

 

“Higher,” Mother said. She circled Natasha, tapping on her foot with a long cane carved of willow. Natasha leant back to counterbalance when she raised her leg, wincing as Mother's sharp voice chastised her.

“I did not say to lower your torso,” Mother tapped the cane against Natasha thigh. “James, what did I tell your sister to do?”

James, who was hacking away at a log nearby, looked over in alarm. Natasha, face pale, mouthed at him.

“You told her to raise her leg higher, Mother,” James answered.

“That's right,” Mother said. Her voice was sickly sweet. “Natasha, why would I want you to worsen your form?”

“You wouldn't, Mother,” Natasha said. The tone of her voice did not betray her fear. “I am sorry that I was unable to perform adequately. May I please have permission to spend the rest of tonight practicing, in order to deserve the time you spend teaching me?”

Mother's countenance shifted, from disapproving to maternal. “This is why you are my favorite, my sweet girl. Yes, you may,” Mother said. “If only your brother was as grateful as you.”

"Mother,” James said, aghast, “I am grateful!”

“Really, James,” Mother sighed. “I do not appreciate dishonesty.”

“I’m not lying! I promise. You're my everything. I love you, I'm grateful for everything, I'm sorry I'm not as good as Natasha,” James plead. “I want nothing as much as I want to make you happy.”

Mother hummed thoughtfully. “Let us leave your sister to her dancing, then. I love you, too, of course, although you do make it difficult sometimes.”

“Thank you,” James said. Relief shone in his eyes. Mother held her hand out to him, and he took it eagerly. They left the clearing, neither giving a single glance backwards.

Natasha watched them go, then without a word and barely a grimace, pulled her leg closer to her chest.


	3. Panther, Pander, Prey, and Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now young adults, James still strives to win Mother's favor. Natasha doesn't believe he can, but wants to protect him where possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually decided to jump straight past their childhood after all. Whoo hoo. The chapters are pretty short, but maybe they'll lengthen up later on.

James sprawled across a fairly low-hanging branch, one leg crooked, knee in the air under him. He had been tracking––or really only observing––a panther for a number of days. There was a blade gripped loosely in one hand, the other pillowing his chin. The panther lay beneath, tearing voraciously into an unrecognizable, unfortunate creature.

“She won’t appreciate it, you know,” Natasha said. Although James had not heard her coming, nor even felt a disturbance of the branch they now shared, he did not start.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James replied. He watched the panther rip a hunk of flesh from its prey’s carcass.

“Mother,” Natasha said. “It won’t make a difference.”

“I don’t care,” James said firmly. His grip on the knife tightened.

“Then why are you doing this?” Natasha leapt across air, landing lightly on the branch above, then the branch across from him. She perched on its end, seeking eye contact with her brother. He sighed and pulled himself into a seated position astride his branch.

“Someday, I’ll be good enough for her,” he told her. “If I give up, that means I believe I can’t be.” He sounded neither bitter nor resigned; there was a determined note to his voice. The panther beneath looked up, snarled, and slunk off with its prey. “Great. Now I’ll have to go after it.”

“You’ll get yourself hurt,” Natasha said.

“I won’t.” James swung onto the ground, leaves crunching beneath his feet. “It isn’t as though I’ll be fighting a bear.”

“I’m coming with you.” Natasha joined him on the ground, landing quietly.

“No, you _aren’t_ !” James rounded on her, eyes wild. “I’m doing this on my own, Natasha, I don’t need you to _protect_ me.”

Natasha didn’t quite reel back, although the single step she took was as good as. Her face shuttered, expression blanking. “If that’s how you feel,” she murmured. “I’ll tell Mother you’ve taken it upon yourself to check the far side of the island. That should give you a week.”

“Won’t take me a week,” James huffed, turning to stride away. Before he was out of sight, however, he turned and gave his sister an apologetic glance. “Thank you.”

With that, he was on his way, following the bloody trail the panther had left.


	4. A Mother's Approval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James completes his hunt and returns to Mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, fair warning, the first half was written while drunk, the second half while very, very crossfaded. I'm like a goldfish right now. Unedited. I'll check in the morning.
> 
> (It has now been proofread. I'm hungover, though, so point out any errors I might've missed!)

The bloody trail ended quickly enough, and James was left to rely on less obvious signs, like broken branches and pawprints. More often than not, they lead to dead ends.

After a few hours of unproductive searching, the sun began to set and James made camp. While he hadn’t planned on having to sleep away from home, he had learned at an early age how to prepare shelter with nothing but his surroundings. He had also gotten very good at not falling out of trees while sleeping in them.

Since the sky did not look like rain, he didn’t bother doing anything more than climbing the nearest sturdy looking tree, stretching out against its trunk, and falling quickly under the spell of sleep. The stars twinkled above him.

The next morning, he woke with the dawn. Pawprints laced the dirt under the tree; the panther had crossed beneath him in the night. He muttered a quiet swear–– _ Mother’s mercy _ ––and returned to the ground. His muscles were tense and achy from being curled up against a tree all night, so James lifted his arms to the sky, reaching, curling backwards on himself. Cracks and pops sounded from his spine and joints. When his muscles had loosened as much as they were likely to, he set off after the new, crumbling prints.

Even without rain, humidity and the morning's dew had softened the dirt considerably. In places, the pads and toes smudged so much that he spent ten minutes searching for them and had to retrace his steps on and off again.

He did not find the panther on the second day, or on the third. On the fourth he woke from his slumber in a cave he’d played in in his childhood to discover that the panther had found him.

The feline stood in the mouth of the cave, staring straight at him. He wasn’t sure what had woken him; the panther was silent, the sun had not fully risen. Indeed, it was dark enough that James could not make out the panther’s features beyond its silhouetted form.

Mother had drilled it into his head to sleep with his weapon curled in one fist any time he slept outside of their home. The panther took a step inside, then another. Every one of James’s instincts shouted at him, demanded he leap into action, but he didn’t; he gripped the knife tighter and squinted, watching the feline slink closer to him. His muscles coiled, preparing to spring, his legs pressed against the cave wall behind him. A ray of sun peeked into the cave, illuminating the panther’s paw as it raised it to bat at James.

With that, James finally moved; he thrust the knife forward, flinging himself with it. The cat reared back, snarling, and swept at him. James rolled and slapped back, dashing his blade against the cougar’s pelt. He grappled, it clawed, and as he managed to drive his knife home, the cougar’s claws punctured the skin on his back.

As it died, screaming, breathless James shoved it off him and lay, gasping, on his stomach. Eventually, perhaps an hour later, James pushed himself to his knees and heaved himself to the carcass.

The sun was nearly setting by the time he had finished butchering it. Just as he began to stand after stretching the skin across two rocks, his focus was stolen by a loud roar from the sky. He looked sharply up, but no clouds gathered, no lightning flashed; it was a stormless day and the roar was louder than even thunder. Far off to the north, he could hear a loud crash, as though boulders had fallen from far up onto the ground.

Shaken, James returned to the cave to sleep. The next afternoon, he rolled the skin and slung it across his shoulders. He managed to return home within three evenings, rather than four, and immediately knocked upon Mother’s door.

“About time you returned,” Mother began, before her eyes found the pelt.

“Sorry, Mother,” James said reflexively. “I tracked and killed the panther and brought you its pelt to show my respect.” He held it out and bowed his head, hiding a wince as the motion stretched the wounds on his back.

“You killed the panther?” Mother raised an eyebrow and ignored his wince.

“Yes.” James nodded, a smile twitching at his lips. He looked up at her as he awaited her response.

“It is a lovely pelt,” Mother said slowly, sliding her palm across the fur. James held his breath. “Thank you, sweet boy.” She patted his cheek and offered a rare smile.

“Of course, Mother.” James's own smile broadened. “I am glad I was able to adequately appreciate you.”

“Natasha,” Mother called. The girl peeked around the corner. “Look what your brother has brought me.”

Knowing the order for what it was, Natasha hastened to Mother’s side and slid a hand along the fur. “It’s beautiful, Mother. An excellent display of his strength.”

“Yes, I did think so,” Mother hummed. “Well, Natasha? Take it to my room, you silly girl.”

“Of course, Mother, I should've thought,” Natasha agreed pleasantly. She took the pelt from her brother, dipped a knee carefully, and left the room.

“Mother?” James asked, still beaming from her approval. “Did you hear the roar the other day?”

“I did.” Mother’s eyes sharpened. “Did you see anything when you checked the beaches?”

“N––no, Mother. It was further west than I checked.”

“Then you shall have to go check it tomorrow,” Mother remarked, waving a hand. “We cannot allow ourselves to become unobservant.”

“Yes, Mother,” James agreed. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning, I promise.”


	5. A Shiny Metal Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James searches for the source of the roar.

The journey to the north side of the island was shorter than to the east, taking a mere day and a half to reach the sandy white shores. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There wasn’t as much as a beached jellyfish marring the beach for miles.

James didn’t wish to return home without something to show for it, so he ventured back into the trees. Even with the size of the island, there were many sections of it that James knew like the back of his hand; the trees nearest the shores were as familiar to him as the rock wall he had learned to climb on.

It was this familiarity, and his keen sense of surroundings, that allowed him to notice small indiscrepancies as he walked southeast. Scrapes tore bark in ways that claws would not. Thicker branches than could be broken by an animal lay haphazardly in his path. James followed the destruction, stopping when a shiny metal...  _ thing  _ laid before him. The metal thing was rounded and long, as though it had been drawn out of itself, with two winglike protrusions on either side. Parts of it hung from the trees, but most of it stretched across the ground.

Inside it were seats made of fabric, empty containers with odd metal teeth around their edges. James had never seen anything like it. Perhaps Mother had.

When no living thing appeared in the odd metal room, James departed, shaking his head and intending on bringing the news home to mother. Only a mile away, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of splitting wood and a human groan. One more like his own than Mother’s or Natasha’s, too deep to belong to either of them.

James followed the sound warily, his knife finding its way into his hand. Another grunt, and a noise like snapping branch, emanated from just beyond him.

It was rare for James to throw caution to the wind. He was slightly more reckless than his sister, but he he had a healthy sense of self-preservation. Still, his curiosity outweighed the niggling danger poking at his mind, and he stepped out from behind the tree.

 

There was a person, light-haired and more muscular than James himself, sitting on a rock and tending a fire. He made eye contact with James, and for a long moment, they stared at each other.

 

“You’re not from the Island,” James said incredulously, “and you’re a man.”


	6. The Man From Off the Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James receives a nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word of warning, I've never written Bucky or Steve before, and haven't read a huge amount of Stucky fic, so... like I said in the first chapter, characters are likely to be OOC. heh.

“I––” the light-haired man started, frowning at James. He used the stick he had been tending the fire with to hoist himself into a standing position. His left leg was tied between two stripped branches with torn fabric. “Yes, I am. My name is Steve.”

“Steve,” James repeated, warily. The two men surveyed each other. “My name is––”

_ A name is a powerful thing. _ His mother’s voice echoed in his head.

“Buchanan,” James finished.

“Buchanan?” Steve laughed, then winced, pressing a hand to his ribs. “That’s a mouthful. Do you have a nickname?”

“A nickname?” James’s eyebrows furrowed. “I just told you my name.” Did the man not believe him? Who was this Steve to call doubt on his words?

“A nickname is a shorter name, something you go by other than your real name,” Steve explained. Ah. “Like me, Steve is actually short for Steven. Only my mother ever called me Steven, though.”

“Oh.” James shook his head. “I don’t have a nickname. Mother...” he hesitated, but surely mentioning her would do no harm. “Mother calls me by my full name.”

“Hmm.” Steve shrugged. “I’ll give you one, then––how about Bucky?”

“I suppose you can call me that,” James said. He fidgeted, then pinched himself surreptitiously to remind himself to be still. “Are you––alright?”

“I’m alive,” Steve said. He carefully lowered himself back onto the rock. “Not many people can survive a plane crash, so I’ll count my blessings.”

“Plane? Is that what the metal thing was?”

“You’ve never heard of a plane?” Steve frowned. He turned to his fire, turning a spit that James hadn’t noticed before. A skinned rabbit, juices dribbling into the flames with little  _ pops _ , was almost finished roasting. “It’s a flying machine. How did you get here without one? This island is a bit far from any continent to sail to.”

“I was born here.” James took a step closer, loitering, still holding his knife. “I didn’t know that it was possible for anyone to reach us.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Steve replied, “but it’s lucky the island was here. When my plane started malfunctioning, I thought I was going to end up drowning in the middle of nowhere. Here, Bucky, sit down. I won’t bite.”

James took another step forward, watching Steve carefully, then approached the rock on the other side of the fire. It was not as large as Steve’s; when James sat, his knees were nearly as high as his chest. It was little better, if any, than sitting on the ground itself.

“You said you grew up here?” Steve didn’t bother watching James, instead focusing on his food. “How many other people live here?”

“Why?” James asked. He watched Steve’s hands.

“Just curious,” Steve said. “Do you have a doctor in your camp?”

“I’m very good at healing,” James said, almost begrudgingly. “I thought you said you were alright.” For some reason, the idea that this other man might  _ not _ be alright sent a pang through him.

“I said I was alive,” Steve corrected. “I’ve got a couple of cuts and scrapes, and I think I broke a few ribs. My shoulder dislocated, I got that back in place pretty quickly. My leg is broken, too, but I set it. Do you have any medicine?”

“I can make some salve so you don’t get an infection,” James allowed. He ran his gaze up and down the man’s form. “Where are you hurt?”

“My torso, mostly.” Steve propped the tending stick against the rock and pulled his shirt off. It was not exactly a smooth movement, hampered by the damaged ribs, but James was spellbound. He slid his knife back into its sheath and walked across to Steve.

“That’s more than a couple,” James said disapprovingly. He lowered himself to his knees and extended a hand, glancing up at Steve to ascertain permission before touching the bare skin. Steve hissed in pain, but didn’t move. “At least you’ve washed them.”

“Of course I did. I wasn’t going to survive plummeting tens of thousands of feet just to die from bacteria.”

“You only broke one rib,” James ignored Steve’s response to continue prodding at his flesh. “But you fractured most of the ones on this side... You need to rest.”

“Does your camp have extra beds?”

“What?” James looked up quickly, then shook his head vehemently. “You can’t come back with me. They can’t know you’re here.”

“Why not?” Steve frowned.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll have to stay here,” James said decisively. “You’ve got a broken leg––how did you even catch a rabbit?”

“This is the first thing I’ve managed to catch since I crashed, actually.” Steve’s smile was a little sheepish. “I set a few traps.”

“I have to go back home soon, to report,” James said slowly, “and you  _ can’t _ come with me, but... I’ll come back as soon as I can. I’ll bring food and some salves. I’ll make some before I leave, actually. When your leg is healed, then we can talk about it again.”

“If you say so,” Steve sighed. “... Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Of course,” James flashed a smile. With one last, perhaps unnecessary, stroke of Steve’s torso, he jerkily stood back up. “I’ll just––go find you some. Get some plants to make you a salve.” He gestured behind him, then turned on his heel and walked off.

Steve watched him leave, a small smile on his face, and kept his gaze on the trees until the smell of charring flesh reminded him of his dinner.


	7. Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James returns home.

“What did you find?”

Mother greeted him just inside the door, not waiting for him to speak before questioning him. James blinked, took a breath.

“Nothing of significance, Mother,” he promised. It was one of few lies he’d ever told her, but it rolled off his lips as easily as if he were describing the current weather. “It looked like some rock sheared off the side of the cliffs.”

Something subtle shifted in Mother’s face, a release of tension, a shedding of some unspoken stress.

“Good boy,” Mother praised, running her fingers through his hair. “Thank you for checking into that for me––it’s important to keep our family safe. Run along now.”

James kissed his mother on the cheek and left the main room of their home, headed to his room. Before he reached it––as he passed Natasha’s open door––he was jerked into his sister’s room.

“That was a lie,” Natasha said. Her tone was mild, not accusatory in the slightest.

“It wasn’t,” James refuted. Natasha snorted.

“Mother doesn’t expect you to lie to her,” Natasha murmured, “but I know you better.”

“Then don’t ask.” James jerked his arm out of her grip, and she searched his face before nodding.

“Promise me you’ll tell me eventually,” Natasha said, “and then I’ll let this go. For now.”

“I promise,” James agreed. He rolled his eyes and shoved her lightly. “How was it while I was gone?”

“As usual,” Natasha said breezily. “I went hunting, I danced for her, she taught me a few new attacks. I can show you tomorrow.” Her lips curled up in a grin, revealing her teeth.

“Think you can beat me?” James laughed. “I’m still stronger.”

“I’m still faster,” Natasha shot back. “You’re a lump.”

“If you say so,” James said. “Have you checked the traps today?”

“Not yet. I was about to when you got back.”

“I’ll check them.”

“You hate checking the traps. If I recall correctly, you once said it was a work of tedium not worth the inconsistent results.”

“I was thirteen and hadn’t slept in two days.” James waved his hand in the air. “You’ve entertained Mother by yourself for the past week and a half, this is the least I can do.”

Natasha eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged. “I won’t argue against anything that gets me out of trap checking.”

“That’s what I thought.” James grinned triumphantly. “I’ll take care of them this week.”

The traps were spaced evenly amongst the trees, a thousand feet apart on the first line. Their home was the epicenter, with nearly fifty of them placed every mile for five miles of radial increase. The innermost circle was checked daily, the other four over two days twice monthly, and the twins had fought over who had to perform the chore until they were fourteen. Natasha had accidentally destroyed Mother’s favorite ceremonial blade, after stealing it away and practicing her jabs. Her typical ability to control her expression had failed her; she’d broken down, shaking, in fear of what Mother would do. James had wordlessly taken the shattered pieces of the obsidian knife and left without informing Natasha of his intent, knowing she would’ve stopped him.

He had been unable to take his turns checking the trap for two weeks, and at the end of that time, Natasha had claimed she’d found enjoyment, peace, in the task. Understanding the offer inherent in her words, James had teased her about it for a grand total of five minutes, and they never spoke of the incident or the scars on James’s legs and shoulder.

It took him three hours to check the inner thirty-three traps, plus an extra hour to hide two squirrels and a rabbit near the next line of traps. By the time he returned home, the sun had set.

“James,” Natasha grinned from the middle of the room, “you’re just in time.” She lowered her leg gracefully, tapping her toes against the ground. “I  _ was _ about to dance for Mother, but perhaps we could–?”

“Yes, sweet girl,” Mother smiled. “Why don’t you show your brother what I taught you yesterday?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are all very sharp and short, mostly unedited, but it's the only way I can manage to get the story on paper.


End file.
